


Inevitably, I Fell for You

by StupidGenius



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Alternate Universe - Dresden Files Fusion, Concussions, Finstock is the perfect Bob, Full Shift Werewolves, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Magical Realism, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Names from the series will make an appearance maybe, Non-Graphic Smut, Scott is an actual wolf, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles, all warning that should come with Kate apply, made up magic shit, probably???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidGenius/pseuds/StupidGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Body was found in the park, eyes pecked out and stomach clawed open.”</p><p>“Doesn’t sound too bad.”</p><p>“There was a feather the size of you torso on the scene.”</p><p>“Right.” He groans, falling back on the bed. “Let me guess. You need me to come down right away.”</p><p>“And you said you weren’t psychic.”</p><p>---</p><p>Or, in which Stiles is a witch and solves magical crimes, Angel style. And maybe he falls for an asshole werewolf along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Haunt

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a Dresden Files AU? I mean, Harry never slept with Mac, and he didn't have a pet wolf. The whole magic council or whatever thing isn't...a thing here.
> 
> might be one or two Castle refs in here as well. Or more.

The whole magic thing started when he was 7.

A little young, he knows, but his mother was adamant. Her family has been practicing magic for over twelve generations, since before the Salem Witch Trials, and she always told him it was best not to let the tradition die, despite him being a boy.

 _“You’re a witch, Przemysław.”_ She told him. _“There’s magic in your veins. A dragon’s heart in your chest. You’ll do great things.”_

He’s let her down. He doesn’t want to get into it now.

Anyway, yeah. Magic practice since he was seven. The more he practiced, the more powerful he became. He’s got…sort of a reputation…in the supernatural community. Of course, no one really believes it, because he’s a major clutz and gets drunk on the regular, but hey. Maybe he can use that to his advantage.

There’s a knock on his door, and he just _knows_ it’s Harris.

“Morning, Mr. Harris.” He forces a grin onto his face. “Is there a problem?”

“Your _dog_ was howling and barking all night long.” Harris complains, eyeing the apartment behind him. “I thought this building doesn’t allow pets.”

“Scotty isn’t a pet, he’s a life-long friend.” Stiles tells him. “And seeing as how a very good friend of mine owns this building, I doubt he’d have a problem with him being here.” He looks back at the large brown wolf lounging on the couch. “Right buddy?” He coos. Scott lifts his head and wags his tail, looking about ready to leap off the couch and barrel into him. Harris pales, as he always does when he sees him, and takes a step back.

“Keep him under control.” Harris snaps. Stiles rolls his eyes as the old man leaves, getting in the elevator and glaring at him until the door closes.

“You sure he isn’t secretly an escaped shade from Tartarus?” Stiles winces. Scott doesn’t answer him, choosing instead to lick his paws.

Stiles sighs before closing the door and locking it.

Scott wasn’t a dog, obviously. He was a wolf, named after the real Scott – the reason Stiles even moved to New York in the first place. That’s – that’s another thing he’s not gonna get into at the moment.

He scratched his head and goes into the study, knocks a fist against the skull sitting next to his lap top.

“Coach.” He calls.

He taps again, harder, and eye sockets light up white, jaw popping open with a yawn.

“STILINSKI!” Stiles winces, covering his ears. “What the fuck? Why am I awake?!”

“Could you maybe turn it down a little? I don’t actually wanna be deaf by the age of 30.” He asks. He imagines coach would be rolling his eyes right now, if he could. “Look, I need you to watch Scott for the day, alright? Probably not coming back tonight. I’m heading down to the office. Call me if anything happens.” He grabs his coat off the back of his chair and makes his way out.

“How am I supposed to call you dumbass? Hey! Hey Stilinski! I don’t have a body, you brat!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is barely inside his office before the phone starts ringing. He hurries over to it and answers, pressing it against his ear.

“Detective Stilinski’s office.”

“Is he there?” A woman asks. He clears his throat.

“Uh, yeah. This is him. He. Whatever.” He winces. “Would you like to make an appointment?”

“Is it possible that you could come to my apartment instead of me going to your office?” She wonders. Stiles sighs, thinks it over.

“I…think so. I’ll need your name and address.” She tells him, and he jots it down quickly. “There any reason you can’t leave your apartment, Ms. Hale?”

“I can leave.” She clarifies. “It’s just. I need some wards put up. Can’t do it myself.” Huh. Not the usual request. He’s instantly 100% more intrigued.

“Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, Ms. Hale.”

“Laura.” She corrects. “Ms. Hale is…Just Laura, thanks.”

“Alright. See you then, Laura.”

“Thank you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He stops by the Old Haunt on the way home.

When he walks in, Adam – the owner – looks up from where he’s wiping down the counter and beams at him.

“Hey Stilinski.” When Stiles takes a seat, he leanes forward on his elbows. “Anything interesting happen today?”

“Adam.” He greets.

Adam would be exactly his type, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s ten years older and clueless to the magical world. Stiles isn’t really sure how the guy could have owned a bar here for this long and still not know about the vampires and werewolves and fae that littered the streets, but hey.. It happens.

“Well? Catch any bad guys?” He asks. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“That’s not all I do, you know.”

“It is in my fantasies.” Adam leans forward a bit more, till their faces are just an inch apart. “You comin’ upstairs tonight?”

Yeah, okay, so maybe the ten years thing isn’t really an issue. Maybe it’s just Stiles trying to come up with reasons to break off this mutually satisfying deal they have.

“Maybe.” He breathes, licking his lips. Adam smirks.

“Definitely.”

“I thought you didn’t wanna do this anymore after Mrs. Adkins’ cradle-robber comment last month.”

“Please.” He snorts. “That old woman isn’t gonna keep me from banging the hottest person in New York.”

“Just New York, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry Stilinski, but Miguel Silvestre has you beat.” Adam leans back, presumably going to make Stiles’ favourite drink.

“I…yeah, no, you’re right.” He sighs. “He’s a god.”

“Oh yeah.” A tall glass is placed in front of him, and he hums.

“Thanks babe.”

“I do love when you call me that.”

The next morning, Stiles stares up at the fan in Adam’s bedroom, too lazy to get up just yet. The guy stirs next to him, moving until his arm is draped over Stiles’ waist, face buried in his pillow. He waits until the bright red numbers on the clock red 8:00, then tries to get up without him noticing.

It doesn’t work.

“St’les.” Adam slurs, turning to blink sleepily up at him. “Stay.”

“Can’t.” He turns to look for his jeans. “I’ve got a client waiting for me.” He finds his clothes and gets dressed quickly, borrowing one of Adam’s shirts so he doesn’t look too suspicious when he leaves.

“Wait.” He reaches out and grabs Stiles’ wrist when he makes for the door.

“Adam –”

“Go out with me some time. Please?” Oh, fuck.

“Adam…” He sighs. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Laura – or, at least, he thinks this is Laura – opens the door, Stiles sees her nostrils flare.

“You smell like sex.” She grunts.

She’s pretty. Tan skin, long, almost black hair. Green eyes, nice cheek bones, straight nose. She’s also a werewolf, if that sentence and his magic are anything to go by.

“Probably because I had sex.” She rolls her eyes, and oh, Stiles likes her. “You didn’t say you were a werewolf.”

“I figured the fact that I was _something_ was implied.” She moves aside. “Come in.”

The apartment is really more of a loft. He can see a wall divider to the far left, and another door to his right, but other than that, it was all one big room. The wall right across from him was just one giant window, some of the glass coloured, other pieces plain or textured.

“Nice place.” He comments. Laura closes the door behind him.

“Derek likes to bath in the sun like an oversized cat.”

“Derek?” He raises an eyebrow.

“My brother.” She explains. “He lives with me.”

“Right.” He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, cracking his knuckles and watching his tattoos light up a pale blue, magic thrumming under his skin. Behind him, Laura inhales sharply. “So. Wards?”

“I have a list.” She pulls a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket and hands it to him. He unfolds it, reading over the list.

“This is…intense.” He narrows his eyes at her. “Why does an Alpha werewolf need this much protection, especially when her beta lives with her?”

“I was attacked yesterday.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Low level fae, nothing too serious, but he said something about there being more. My brother and I have been through enough, especially him, and I don’t want to risk something else happening.” Huh. Okay. He looks back down at the paper.

“Look, Laura…This is really a lot of stuff. It’ll take some time, and a shit ton of magic. Really physically and mentally exhausting, on my part, and I don’t think –”

“I’ll pay you. I don’t care. Is 500 enough?”

“That’s not –”

“500 an hour.” He gapes. “Look, are you gonna do this or not? I’d rather not waste my time.”

He considers it. If he’s right about this (And he usually is), then he might leave this place with four thousand dollars, which is…yeah, it’s a lot. Maybe more than what he’s doing is worth. But a really evil, shitty part of him is telling him not to tell her that.

So he doesn’t.

“I’ll do it.” He agrees. She smiles.

“Good. Will you be needing any supplies?”

“Um…” he thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“What do you need?”

He lets out a breath. “Paint. Lots of it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Halfway through the fourth hour, someone comes stomping into the loft. He doesn’t set off any wards, so he can really only be one person.

“Derek!” Stiles hears Laura say. He tries not to pay too much attention to them right now. This particular ward is taxing, and requires a lot of concentration and attention to detail. It may be the hardest on the list. He knows they probably don’t need a fire ward, but if he’d been through the same shit they have, he’d want one too.

“Who’s this?” A guy – presumably Derek – asks. He sounds pissed, but Laura said he always sounds like that, so he’s not worried.

“This is Detective Stilinski. He…” he tunes them out.

He gets lost in his magic, sometimes. He thinks maybe it’s because of his ADHD, the hyperfocusing. Most of the time, it’s helpful. When he’s so focused on a book that the whole world could go to shit and he wouldn’t notice, well, maybe not so much.

When he finishes the ward, he stands, putting a hand on the wall to keep himself steady.

“Are you okay?” Laura asks. He turns around.

“Yeah, you know. Just. Takes energy, and…all that…” he blinks.

That. That is probably the hottest man alive today. He’s basically a male version of Laura, but better. That stubble. Those fucking eyes, wow. And his eyebrows. They’re…impressive.

“You’re a witch.” Derek says.

“Yeah, Captain Obvious, I’m aware.” He huffs, wiping his forehead. God, he probably smells gross. “I need to take a break. Any way I can finish this tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” Laura nods, and hands him something.

A check.

A check for _one thousand seven hundred fifty dollars_.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He chokes out. Then he flees as fast as possible.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles stumbles his way into his apartment, stripping off his jacket and shoes as he makes his way to his room. He fumbles with his phone, checking his messages. Three texts, two missed calls.

 

**From: Adam**

**Got a new Barista. Free Saturday.**

**Marco’s at eight?**

**From: Ally A**

**Coming down soon. Call me?**

**(1) Missed Calls from Dad**

**(1) Missed Calls from Detective Martin**

 

Crap. He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. He can answer Adam and Allison later, but he should probably call Lydia and Dad now.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone earlier?” Lydia snaps.

“Hello to you too, Lyds.”

“It’s Detective Martin. Answer the question.”

“If by earlier, you mean twenty minutes ago.” Silence. “I was with a client.” He yawns. “What’s this about?”

“There’s been a murder.” _Of course_ there’s been a murder. “Seems like something you’d be interested in.”

“What happened?”

“Body was found in the park, eyes pecked out and stomach clawed open.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“There was a feather the size of you torso on the scene.”

“Right.” He groans, falling back on the bed. “Let me guess. You need me to come down right away.”

“And you said you weren’t psychic.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m getting a migraine.” He complains when he gets there.

He started working – sorry, _consulting_ – with the NYPD around two years ago. It was almost a year after he opened up his office, and They’d sent in the department’s newest transfer – Lydia Martin. Honestly, for the first four months of their begrudging partnership, he called her Scully, solely because of her red hair and unwillingness to believe.

“Get him some aspirin.” Lydia snaps at some poor intern. She hands Stiles a coffee when he gets close enough.

“You’re a goddess among men.”

“I know.” She jerks her chin towards the body Stiles is trying his hardest to ignore. “IDed the victim. Name’s Jack Brennan, age 31. They’re bringing in known family and friends now for questioning.” She studies him. “You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean it. Have you been sleeping?”

“Not in the last few days, no.” He yawns. Lydia frowns at him.

“You spent all night at the Old Haunt, didn’t you.” He grimaces.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She smacks the back of his head. “Ow! What the fuck, Lydia?!”

“Stop stringing that poor man along.” She chastises. “Even I’m not so cruel. You’ve been sleeping with him for a year and a half, Stiles. You’ve got to know he has feelings for you.”

“Can we maybe talk about the body, please?” He tries. She points a finger at him, but drops it after a moment.

“Fine. Are you gonna do your witchy crap, or did I call you down for nothing?”

He wants to tell her that yes, she did call him for nothing, but he’s getting that weird tingling thing in the back of his skull, so he knows something magic happened here.

“Yeah.” He sighs, handing her the coffee. “Keep this on standby. I’ll need it to wash out the taste of puke.”

He crouches down over the body and pulls back the tarp.

The body’s…grotesque. There are large claw marks everywhere, but the stomach’s basically been ripped out, intestines half eaten and hanging out the body. The eyes are just raw, blood holes in the guy’s head, blood on almost every inch of the skin and clothes. Small tufts of feathers are sticking out of his hair, and his arms and legs are bent at weird angles, neck most definitely broken. The headache from before comes back with a vengeance, and turns away.

“Fuck, I’m gonna be sick.” He groans.

“Don’t puke on the evidence.” Someone says.

“Stiles?” Lydia calls.

“Just.” He breathes. “Gimme a minute.” You’d think, after years of this shit, he’d be a bit more desensitized.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” He gets up.

“Well?”

“Not human, for sure. Could be a Griffin, but the eye thing is more of a Harpy’s style.” He puts his hands on his hips, thinking.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s just…Harpies usually go after criminals. Thieves, rapists, murders…” He looks down at the body. “What the hell did this guy do?” Lydia hums.

“Don’t know. But I guess we should find out.”

“It’s not like you can make an arrest, you know. The killer isn’t exactly human.” HE reminds her. Lydia makes a face.

“Right.” She looks down at the body. “I really hope there really is an Area 51. I’m not equipped to deal with this shit.”


	2. A Sneaking Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Two victims." Lydia class before he's even five feet away. "Female. Either late teens or early twenties. No identification."
> 
> "Where are the bodies?" He asks, looking around. She makes a pained expression and points up.
> 
> He regrets looking up. Like, seriously regrets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before you start; I know very little about how actual wolves act. Scott isn't a normal wolf though, so i guess i don't have to worry about that.
> 
> (There may be a Pushing Daisies ref in here somewhere)

Stiles sleeps for almost two whole days after he finishes with the wards at the Hale loft. That’s what he gets for staying awake for 72 hours. He almost misses his date.

And yeah. He agreed to the date.

“I didn’t think you would come, to be honest.” Adam admits, smiling shyly. “I’ve been trying to ask you out for a while.”

“My life is kind of…a mess.”

“I realized that when we slept together the first time, Stiles.”

“I don’t think you know how really fucked up it is.” Adam shakes his head, picking up another slice of pizza.

“I don’t care about your past.”

“You really should.”

“But I really don’t.” He smiles, but it drops after a second. “Do you…I mean, did you always say no because I’m…old?”

“No!” Stiles feels his cheeks redden. “Yes. Maybe. If it helps, I don’t really care. It was in an attempt to find things I hated about you.” He grins.

“Does this mean you failed?”

“Horribly.”

Adam nudges his foot under the table.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It ends in sex, but that was expected. He leaves with half promises of another date in the near future, and stops home to change clothes and get yelled at by Coach. When he gets to his office, he sees someone’s already outside the door, waiting for him.

Laura Hale.

“Laura?” he calls, locking the jeep. The Alpha turns, nodding. “What are you doing here? Are the wards holding up?”

“They’re fine.” She runs a hand through her hair. “They’re not the problem.”

“What happened?”

“Can we talk about this inside?” She asks, glancing around them. Stiles pulls out his keys, unlocking the door.

“Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

When she enters, he gestures for her to sit down in the chair in front of his desk. The charm on his door lights up blue for a minute, signaling the entrance of something supernatural entering his office. He takes a seat.

“So?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Derek was jumped leaving his job last night. It could just be a coincidence, but I don’t believe in those. I was wondering if you made any personalized protective charms?” Stiles sighs.

“The local coven would really be better at this than I am.”

“You’re the most powerful witch in New York.”

“Yeah, but I’m more of a crime solving guy.” He shrugs. “It runs in the family.”

Laura narrows her eyes at him, lips pursed. “Fine.” She says after a moment. “Then I’d like to hire you. As a PI.” He gapes.

“That’s – I – What?”

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but – you don’t even really know if someone’s actually trying to hurt you and your pack, or if this really is just a coincidence.”

“It’s never just a coincidence with werewolves, Detective.” She drums her fingers against the desk. “Will you do it?”

Stiles sighs. “I don’t know. I might be able to make those charms for you, though.”

“Great.” She shakes his hand. “I’ll call you.”

And then she leaves.

Fucking werewolves. Actual wolves, he can deal with. Scott’s his familiar, so he’s magically incapable of hurting Stiles, and always listens. Werewolves? Werewolves are just impulsive assholes who think their enhanced senses make them better than everyone else (a little voice in his head whispers that no, Scott and Isaac weren’t like that, they were good. But he ignores it).

He pulls out his cell and dials someone he knows he’s long overdue to talk to.

“Hey Dad.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lydia calls again later that day, saying nothing more than an address and a short "get here. Now." before hanging up. Stiles grabs his jacket, scratches Scott's head, and leaves.

"Two victims." Lydia class before he's even five feet away. "Female. Either late teens or early twenties. No identification."

"Where are the bodies?" He asks, looking around. She makes a pained expression and points up.

He regrets looking up. Like, seriously regrets it.

One body is hanging horizontally from the ceiling, front facing them and organs dangling out like she's a fucking chandelier. Injuries on that one are pretty similar to the body from Monday. The other one, though. Lydia points to the body on the bed. It's cut - no, _bitten_ \- in half, the top half looking like it's been spit back up. He can see spine in both of them.

"Oh, hell." He groans. He leans out the loft window and narrowly avoids throwing up all over some poor homeless man. "You could have warned me!" He croaks.

"You should get used to seeing these things, Stilinski." Lydia huffs. She hands him a mug of coffee. "This should help."

"You're cruel." He whines.

"Get over it." She rolls her eyes. "Kira?"

"This one doesn't have any ID on her, but I recognize the other one." The coroner points to the bed . "That's Mandy Harrison. She was a child star, but she recently spent four months at a rehab center in Cali. I'm guessing this must be her girlfriend." Kira looks up, contemplative look on her face. "Well. Was her girlfriend. Alexis Castle."

"Great." Lydia scrubs a hand down her face. "The press is gonna be all over this."

"Do I still need to do my magic thing, or...?"

"Same MO as the last one, claws and all. You're the mythology expert, Stilinski. Tell me, do Harpies usually do this?"

"I've never heard of a rogue Harpy before, no." He looks out the window. There's some teenage girl in the apartment across from them blasting music, dancing a bit ridiculously. "Unless."

"Unless?"

"I think...someone might have found a way to control it." He glances at Kira. "Uh."

"Oh, it's totally cool." She beams. "I'm a kitsune. I know all about this already."

"Oh, for the love of –" Lydia pinches the bridge of her nose. "I should have known something was wrong with you when you chose to work with me."

"Hey! Don't diss the fox lady." Stiles scolds.

Kira grins at him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The facts were these:

Stiles Stilinski, at age 18, convinced his friend to go in search of a dead body in the woods.

Scott McCall, age 18, was bitten and turned into a werewolf.

Scott McCall, age 20, became an Alpha, his only pack members a human witch and a high school senior named Isaac.

Scott McCall, age 21, was killed by another werewolf for his power.

It's all Stiles' fault.

He thinks about it all the time. How, if he hadn’t dragged Scott out with him that night, he wouldn’t have gotten him in that mess. Probably would have gotten bitten himself, and he knows his body would reject it. He’s not build to hold so much conflicting magic, probably would have died within the first three hours. But then Scott would still be alive. Scott was so much better at this shit than him. He was nice, the community loved him. Stiles? He’s annoying, and loud, and hasn’t really done anything of importance. Yeah, he works with the NYPD sometimes, but it’s not like he’s ever really solved a case. Not that the regular humans know of, anyway.

He throws back another shot of tequila, hoping to just forget everything for now.

“That can’t be healthy.” A gruff voice says. Stiles jumps, spinning around in his chair.

“Jesus christ! You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack.” Stiles snaps, glaring. Derek just scowls right back. Stiles thinks maybe that’s his resting face. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Applying for a job.” He shrugs. Stiles eyes him, gesturing for the current barista to bring him another shot.

“Adam isn’t here.”

“Adam?”

“The owner.” Stiles clarifies. He downs the shot. “Why would a werewolf ever want to work at a bar? I thought you guys tended to stay away from places like this.”

“I got fired. This is the only other place available.” Derek looks around. “There are a lot of creatures here.”

“Of course. It’s smack in the middle of mythological creature central.” He takes another shot, and blinks a couple times. His problem with alcohol is that it tends to hit him all at once.

Derek watches him. It’s a bit unnerving, and he gets the feeling the werewolf’s not too good in social situations.

“You’re drunk.” He says finally.

“Absolutely.”

“Laura hired a drunk to protect us.”

“Hey.” Stiles pokes him in the chest. “Just because I seem incapable doesn’t mean I _am_.”

“You haven’t proven that.” Derek snaps at him. He stands up, glaring at Stiles. “My sister, for some reason, has decided we should trust you. Maybe you should give us a reason to.” And, with that, he leaves.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek only knows one person in New York that can give reliable information.

“Ace.” He nods at her.

“Hale.” Ace grins, eyes white as she presses her fingers against a computer.

Derek met Ace around the same time he and Laura moved here. She’s a tiny woman, one of the smartest people Derek knows, and a technopath. It was unnerving, at first, when she showed him what she could do. Her eyes go white when she uses it, but he got used to it. She knows pretty much anything about anything.

“I need a favor.”

“Hmm.” She drops her hands, and the white over her eyes fades back to their normal dark brown. “If I remember correctly, you owe me what, ten favors already?”

“And this’ll make it eleven.” Derek rolls his eyes. “Could you just do it please?”

“Depends. What do you want?”

“Laura’s hired this this guy to look into the recent fae attacks on us. Some Detective Stilinski. I want a background check.”

“Okay.” She cracks her neck. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

He waits while she sifts through the information, occasionally humming to herself or inhaling sharply. After about twenty minutes, she resurfaces, looking thoughtful.

“Well?”

“His first name’s a mouthful.” She says. “I can’t pronounce it. But he goes by Stiles.”

“That’s all?” He raises an eyebrow. She glares at him.

“I’m not finished.”

“Oh.”

“Stiles Stilinski. Twenty-six years old, born to Claudia and John Stilinski the eighth of April. His mother died when he was nine years old. Technically, he’s a citizen of Poland. He lived Beacon Hills, California for about twenty years before moving here and opening up his own PI business. When he was 21, his roommate, Scott McCall, died of an animal attack. He dropped out of college after that.”

“When was that?”

“About…” She thinks for a moment. “A few months before he moved here.”

“Think he was involved?”

“Maybe. I have a contact there I could check with.” She frowns. “The name McCall sounds vaguely familiar though. He might have mentioned it before.”

“Okay. Thanks, Ace.”

“No problem.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sorry Ally, I’ve been busy.” Stiles holds his phone between his ear and his shoulder, picking up a spoon full of cereal. He’d been too lazy to actually make himself a real dinner. Lydia would kill him if she saw him now.

“I’ve been trying to call you for almost a week now, Stiles.”She sounds frustrated and concerned, even through the receiver. “We planned this months ago, remember? You’re still picking me up at the airport, right?”

“Yeah, of course I am. I wouldn’t forget that.”

“Okay. Good.”She pauses.“Your dad’s worried about you. So am I. You keep avoiding us.”

“I’m not avoiding you guys.” He whispers. “Just the town in its entirety.”

“No one blames you for what happened. It’s just another unfortunate animal Attack to them, Stiles. And even if it weren’t, it still wouldn’t be your fault.”

“I do. I blame myself. I can’t go back and face this people knowing all of this was my fault.”

“Stiles –”

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Don’t avoid me, Stiles.”

“No, I mean, _literally_.” The phone beeps again, signaling another call. “I’m pretty sure Martin’s on the other line. We’re working a case right now.”

“Oh. Well. Bye.” Then, softer. “You’re my brother. I love you, you know that, right?”

He swallows thickly. “Yeah. I know, Ally. Love you too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lydia sighs down at the body. It’s the fourth one this week, and she doesn’t know if she can take this anymore.

She doesn’t tell anyone that she’s the anonymous tip that called it in. That she has been for the past ten deaths.

She doesn’t know how she finds them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles trying to figure out how many chapters this'll be.
> 
> Getting most of my victim's names from Bones and Castle btw
> 
> (Also, harry owns the apartment building Stiles lives in)


	3. She's got Silver Bullets on Her Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What am I looking at?’ Coach wonders. Stiles glances at the skull, chewing his pen. Scott curls up on his chair.
> 
> “Murders.
> 
> “No shit. I figured, with all the fucking blood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the bit about Danny and names was taken from the first book.
> 
> Chapter title taken from [Put The Gun Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TljJdjQMp-c) by ZZ Ward

Stiles finishes taping up the pictures on the board, tapping his white marker against his lips.

On one side, he has his case with Lydia. Four murders, different days and times and places, all the victims seemingly unconnected, aside from those two girls and how they were murdered. He’s sure now that it was a Harpy, but the motive is still unclear.

On the other side, he has the Hales. First, Laura was attacked by a fairy, then Derek, outside his job. That side has a lot less than Lydia’s does.

“What am I looking at?’ Coach wonders. Stiles glances at the skull, chewing his pen. Scott curls up on his chair.

“Murders.

“No shit. I figured, with all the fucking blood.”

“You’re not being very helpful right now, you know that?’

“You knew this is what it would be like when you found me.” Stiles shoots a glare in his direction before turning back to the board.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about these.” He mutters. “Harpies don’t just – they punish criminals. As far as we can tell, these people were all innocent. Mandy did a couple months for drug related things, but the Harpies wouldn’t attack over something like that, and Alexis was innocent.”

“It could have something to do with the excess magic in the middle of the city.” Coach offers. Stiles freezes.

“ _What?!_ ”

“I thought I told you about this?”

“No! No, you really didn’t!” He throws his hands up. “What the hell, Coach?!”

“Not my fault your spark didn’t pick up on it.” the skull mumbles. Stiles’ fingers twitch, and he resists the urge to through the thousand year old spirit out the fucking window.

“Don’t keep this shit from me anymore.” He snaps.

“You’re lucky I’m even helping you at all.” Coach snorts.

“You know what? Fuck you man, you’re going in The Box until I’m not pissed anymore.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles stands in the middle of the alley and tries not to look suspicious.

Fairies are tricky little bastards. It’s hard to contact them when you need them, and sometimes, they won’t help you, just because they don’t feel like it, or they wanna watch you struggle. Which is why, if you really want something, you have to catch them.

Two things you need to understand about catching fae; names and circles.

Everything thin the whole fucking world has a name. If you know someone’s name, you can associate yourself with them, magically, like how he could reach out and touch someone if he has a piece of their DNA. You need to know their name, their true name, and you need to know how to pronounce it. Two people could have the exact same name, but hey way they say it could be different, so you have to _know_. Anything that can practice magic tends to collect names. You never know when it’ll come in handy.

Circles, well. That might be pretty obvious.

Anyway, yeah. Here he stands, waiting. He did everything he was  supposed to, and now –

Danny appears in the middle of the circle, cautiously poking at the small piece of bread before picking it up and letting out a delighted little squeal. The circles closes, and he shrieks.

“You dick!” The tiny fairy yells when he spots stiles.

Danny is about six inches tall, purple, and had almost invisible lavender wings. He was also an asshole, but Stiles needs information.

“You know the deal, Danny.” He reminds him.

“You didn’t have to trap me!”

“You wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t.”

“Well I guess we’ll never know now, will we.” He huffs. The throws himself down on the dirty concrete and takes a furious bite of the bread. “I should turn you into a toad, that’s what I should do. Rot your fucking teeth out of your head. Fill your ears with worms.”

“Great. You do that. Then you can tell me what I need to know.”

Danny sighs up at him. “You could at least pretend to be afraid, Stiles.”

“Sorry buddy. No time.” He shrugs. Danny picks up the tony bowl of honey and slurps on it, getting the stuff all over his face.

“Fine. What do you need to know?”

“A friend of mine –” and he uses that term _loosely_ “– said something about excess magic in the middle of the city. I need to know where it’s coming from.”

“Hmmm.” Danny hums. “Excess magic. What do I know about excess magic?”

“Danny.”

“Alright, alright. _Goddess_ , you humans sure are impatient.” Danny wipes a hand across his mouth. “Word is an interdimensional bleed opened up a few blocks away from that bar you always go to.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. And it’s not closing. Court thinks maybe it wasn’t opened intentionally – which means someone’s disrupted the balance. Traumatic event and all that.”

“ _Fuck_.” He runs a hand through his hair. A bleed would certainly cause a harpy to go haywire and attack random, innocent citizens. Shit. “Is that all you know? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Now let me go!” He demands. Stiles rolls his eyes and complies.

“Thanks.” He says earnestly. Danny glares at him.

“Call next time. Or I really will turn you into a disgusting animal.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Derek’s feet pound against the pavement.

He’s been running for an hour, bullet wound in his arm still bleeding sluggishly. He feels weak, and he knows by now that the bullet was laced with wolfsbane. He doesn’t know where his phone is, and he doesn’t want to howl for Laura just yet – he can’t risk the hunter going after her. He’d rather Laura be a lone Alpha than be the reason she’s dead.

“You can hide, little wolf, but I’ll _finnd youuu_!” The hunter sing-songs, her manic laughter exactly like Kate’s and nothing like it all at once. He shivers, turning sharply to hide behind a garbage can.

“ _Come out come out wherever you arre_.” The hunter walks down the alley, heartbeat eerily calm and steady, even after all that running. “Oh man. Never thought I’d be doing this someday.” Derek closes his eyes and leans slowly against the dirty brick walls behind him.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but eventually, the woman leaves. He thinks maybe the sun’s about to come up.

He can feel the aconite pumping through his system, and it’s only a matter of time before it reaches his heart. He needs help, preferably now.

When he crawls out from behind the dumpster, he feels dizzy, and he doesn’t recognize any of the buildings. He does, however, recognize the beat up old baby blue jeep sitting outside a small office. The same jeep that was parked outside the loft when that witch came over.

He hobbles across the street, and he can hear the witch’s slow heartbeat even before he gets to the door. Asleep, probably.

He pounds on the glass anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Jesus fuck_!” Stiles swears, staggering back under Derek’s weight. The werewolf had toppled over the second he opened the door.

He gets one of Derek’s arms over his shoulders, wraps an arm around his waist, and drags him over to the worn old couch he has in the back of his office. Derek grunts in pain, and Stiles wrinkles his nose at the smell of garbage and death.

“What happened?” He asks when he lets him go. Derek whimpers in pain when strips off his leather jacket.

“I got shot.”

“Wha – why aren’t you healing?”

“Wolfsbane.” Derek grits out. And then he bares his arm.

“Oh god.” Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. He honestly doesn’t know what’s worse. The flashbacks to Scott and Beacon Hills, or the actual image of the wound that’s now seared in his brain. “Why couldn’t I have just been born a normal person?”

Derek grunts again.

“I need you to cut off my arm.”

_What?!_

“What?! Dude, no!”

“I’ll die if it reaches my heart.” Derek glares at him. And, yeah, Stiles is well aware of the effects of wolfsbane on werewolves.

“I know! But, come on, there’s no way I’m let you _chop off your arm_ in an office space that I don’t even _own_!” He says a bit hysterically. Derek’s eyes flicker from electric blue, to green, to blue again, fifty times all in the matter of a minute. “Shit. _Shit_.” He bites his lip. “Tell me what you need.”

“Wolfsbane.” Derek pants. “I need…need to burn it out of my system.”

“Okay.” Stiles takes a breath. “Okay. I might have some in my apartment.”

“How far away is your apartment?”

“Twenty minutes.” Stiles winces.

“I won’t live long enough for you to get it and come back.” _Shit._

“Then you’re coming with me.” Stiles hauls him to his feet and ushers him to the jeep. “Just so you know, you’re cleaning my car if you get blood all over it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Derek replies dryly. Stiles narrows his eyes at him, then buckles him in and closes the door, hurrying over to the driver’s side.

This is just what he needs the day before Allison comes to visit. A dying werewolf in his car. Perfect.

When it looks like Derek’s nodding off, he smacks his chest.

“What?” Derek growls.

“Stay awake man. I don’t know how I’m gonna explain this to your sister if you die, and I really don’t want an angry Alpha on my hands.”

“Laura’d be…more angry at me than at you…trust me.”

 

When they get to the apartment, they only narrowly avoid getting caught by Mr. Harris. Scott starts growling the second Stiles hauls Derek through the door, though one flash of Derek’s eyes shuts him up.

“You have a wolf in your apartment?!”

“He’s my familiar.” Stiles grunts.

“Aren’t they supposed to be cats?”

“I’m not a cat person.” He looks around. “Watch him, Scott. I’ll go look through my supplies.” The wolf really doesn’t look happy about it, but does as he’s told, sitting across from Derek and watching him. Stiles nods to himself and goes into the study.

_I really hope he doesn’t die on my couch._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I called Laura.” Stiles tells him when he wakes up. The witch looks tired, dark purple bruises under his eyes. There’s dried blood, both black and red, on his shirt where Derek fell on him. He’s suddenly aware that it’s dawn. “She said she’s coming in twenty minutes so she can kick your ass.”

“Yeah.” Derek groans, pushing himself into a sitting position. “That sounds like Laura.” Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“Sounds lovely.” He pauses. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly. Derek stretches, standing up.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, well. Werewolves aren’t as indestructible as one might think.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” Derek raises an eyebrow. Stiles frowns at him, turning away.

“I’m not.”

“That was a lie.” He points out.

“Fucking – stupid werewolf lie detectors.” He snaps. “Ever consider that maybe I don’t want to talk about it?”

“You shouldn’t keep important things from the people you work for.”

“This isn’t important. Not to you.” Stiles tells him, glaring. It smells like misery and guilt, so he doesn’t push.

Stiles’ cell phone rings a few minutes later, and he goes into the study to answer it, not bothering to close the door.

“Don’t tell me there’s another murder.”

_“Then I’d have no reason to call you.”_

“I like to think you enjoy my company.”

_“Stilinski.”_

“Right, yeah. What is it this time?”

_“Another body found in the park. Throat ripped out, organs missing.”_

“Another Harpy?”

_“No feathers this time. Kira thinks it might have been a wolf, but no one saw or heard any wild animals last night.”_ That catches Derek’s attention. He goes over, and Stiles glares at him.

“I’d at least like the illusion of privacy, you know.”

_“What?”_

“Not you, Lydia.” Stiles sighs. “What, Derek?”

“It sounds like your victim was attacked by an Omega.” He tells him. Stiles sighs.

“I’m so sick of werewolves.” He mutters. Then, louder. “I’m on my way.” He hangs up.

“I’ll come with you.”

“What? No. This is actual police business.”

“I can help.” He points out. “If it’s a werewolf, neither you nor the NYPD will be fast enough to catch them. Plus, we tend to listen more to other werewolves than to humans.”

“You…” Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “Fine.”

“That sounds like a fucking horrible idea, but okay.” Something from behind him says.

“ _Coach!_ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they get there, Lydia crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him.

“Who is he?” She asks, jerking her chin in Derek’s direction. The werewolf scowls, as he’s been doing for the past hour, and Stiles just sighs, because he’s too fucking tired for this.

“Lydia, this is Derek Hale. Derek, this is Detective Martin.” He look back at her. “Derek’s a werewolf. He’s offering his help, cause he thinks maybe a werewolf did this.”

“Werewolves?” She frowns. “There are werewolves too?”

“Yeah.” He looks to the left, and regrets it instantly. As always. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t vomit on the shoes.” Lydia waves him off. “Sorry, no coffee this time.”

“Uh huh. Jesus.” He squints up at the clouds.

“It was a werewolf.” Derek says after a minute. Stiles glances at him.

“You’re sure?” He risks another look at the body. “How can you tell? Is it scent?”

“No.” Derek frowns, crouching down over it. “I knew him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just be warned, I actually suck at slow build. I can never figure out exactly how to get them from hating each other's guts, to reluctant friends, to lovers. But this is going better than i thought it would, so we'll see.


	4. This Is Where It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _'Just relax_ ' he said." Derek growls, shifting into beta form and charging at it. He claws at it's eyes, trying to distract it. " _'I'll be fine'_ he said."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get writers block after three or four chapters of a fic, and i hate it. Cause i wanna write, you know, but then it turns out like shit. Hopefully, this isn't too terrible.

“Stiles!” Allison squeals when she spots him, and he drops the sign he’s holding in favor of wrapping his arms around her, practically lifting her off the ground.

She clings back just as tightly, and he doesn’t know how long they stand there, breathing each other in. She smells like lavender and home, like airport and coffee. He doesn’t say anything about the familiar jacket she’s wearing. The one that’s still got a bit of blood staining one cuff from when Scott fought that Alpha.

“Hey Ally.” He says softly when they finally let go. She beams at him.

“Nice to finally see you in the flesh.” She jokes, throwing a backpack over her shoulder.

“We Skyped all the time.”

“Yeah, but you know it’s not the same.” He grabs the rest of her bags and starts making his way to the jeep.

“You know, I might be a bit busy while you’re here. I’m working on a case right now with Martin, and it keep getting more and more complicated by the minute.”

“Magic Case or Regular Case?” She wonders.

“How about a ‘None of Your Business’ Case?” He smirks. She rolls her eyes at him. “How’s my dad?”

“You know you could always answer his calls and find out yourself.” When she sees the guilty look on his face, she shakes her head. “Sorry. I didn’t – he’s fine. Great. This thing with him and Melissa is going nauseatingly well.”

“Good. That’s – good.” He sighs. “Ally –”

“Don’t Stiles.” She stops him. “Please. I…I’m a little hurt, yeah, but that doesn’t matter. You did what you had to to get better. If I was braver, I would have done the same.” Stiles gapes.

“You’re one of the bravest women I’ve ever met.” He tells her. She smiles at him.

“You think so?”

“I don’t think we could’ve survives what we did if you weren’t.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t know how he got to the park, or why. He just knows that he’s here now, and there’s a fucking _troll_ wondering around, shaking the ground a bit as he walks.

“Fuck.” Stiles hisses, sprinting to hide behind the nearest tree. He fumbles with his phone for a moment, finger hovering over Allison’s contact.

She came here to get away. Stiles knows, without a doubt, that she’d come for him if he called her. That she’d save him if he needed it. But he can’t. He can’t remind her of the life she’s trying to leave behind. So he doesn’t call her.

He calls Derek.

“Did you find anything?” Derek snaps. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You know, a hello would be nice.”

“Hello, Stiles.” He says flatly. He’s probably glaring; he can feel it through the phone. “Do you have a fucking lead or what?”

“Not…exactly.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The troll is still stomping around the park when Derek finally gets there. He can't smell blood or see and squashed bodies on the floor, so he's going to assume that Stiles is still alive.

"Derek!" A whisper comes from the nearest tree, and the troll turns its head, confused.

He spots Stiles sitting on a low branch, phone clutched in his hand and the bottoms of his pajama pants muddy and torn. Speaking of which -

"Are you in your pajamas?" He asks when he gets there. Stiles nods, scratching at a tattoo on his arm.

"It's - actually, that's not important."

"That's a troll." He says, pointing at it.

"Keen observation skills you go there, Fido." The witch snarks. "Had no idea."

" _Stiles_." He growls.

"Okay! I just - I tend to do this when I'm panicking, okay, it's a thing." He lets out a shaky breath. "I need to send it back to wherever it came from."

"And how exactly are you gonna do that?" He raises an eyebrow.

"I just need to get my hands on it -"

"What?! Are you insane?! It'll kill you!" Stiles glares.

"I know. Very aware, in fact. But teleportation spells are hard enough as is, if I try and do it from here, I'll just end up killing myself. He's huge, it'll take every last drop of magic I have."

"And what am I supposed to do while you're doing this?"

"I dunno, just..." He narrows his eyes. "Try and stop it if it runs away." He hops off the branch, looking unsure and a bit afraid. It's not very reassuring. "Just relax. I'll be fine."

"It's not you il worried about." He lies.

And why the fuck is he lying, anyway?

Stiles takes a deep breath and then runs out, sprinting along the trees until he gets to the other side of the park. Of course, it's only thirty seconds into the stupid plan when shit goes wrong.

He sees the thing drop a branch it was holding, the end of it hitting Stiles's head on the way down, and then suddenly Stiles drops to the floor, sprawled out like a rag doll. The troll makes a sound, likes its curious about what exactly it knocked out, and reaches down to pick him up. Derek's heart leaps into his throat. He knows, from experience, that trolls are stupid. They're basically giant babies, and have no real grasp on how strong they are. Plus, they have horrible vision. So it's very likely that it'll just end up crushing Stiles, effectively killing him. He doesn't want to think about why the thought makes him panic.

" _'Just relax_ ' he said." Derek growls, shifting into beta form and charging at it. He claws at it's eyes, trying to distract it. " _'I'll be fine'_ he said."

He heard somewhere that you're not supposed to move someone with a head injury, but he has to. He moves quickly, picking Stiles' limp body up off the ground and carrying him to an abandoned warehouse across the street. When he's sure the troll hadn't spotted them, he lays the witch down and inspects his injuries.

He's breathing evenly, heart steady. There's a nasty bruise forming under the gash on his forehead, but other than being a bit paler than usual, he's fine.

He groans when Derek pokes at it.

"G'way da." He mumbles, batting weakly at Derek's hand. He huffs.

"Stiles." He tries. " _Stiles._ " He pokes him in the ribs.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Stiles bolts up into a sitting position, heart racing and eyes glowing an eerie silver color. He looks around frantically.

"Am I dead?" He squeaks. Derek rolls his eyes.

"No, dumbass. You got knocked out."

"Oh." He calms. "Ow." He reaches up and gingerly touches the cut, pulling back with a wince.

"You hit your head pretty hard." He informs him. Stiles nods, movement making him hiss in pain. Derek reaches out, placing a hand on his jaw. "Here – let me –"

He takes the pain, watching some of the tension drain out of Stiles' shoulders.

"Right." He blinks sluggishly. "I forgot werewolves could do that." The witch smiles weakly at him after a second.

“Looks like we’re even now.”

“What?”

“You know. I saved your life, you saved mine. Even.” Oh.

 Stiles looks towards the window. "I think it's gone. Shit."

"Gone?" That can't be good. He can only imagine what a troll would do to the city.

"I think...I think another bleed's opened up in the park."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles sways when he stands, putting a hand on Derek's chest to try to steady himself.

“Another bleed? What are you talking about?”

“Did I not – no, of course I didn’t.” He sighs, head spinning and ears ringing. “Right, uh. Bleeds. Of the interdimensional kind. Whenever something traumatic and major that should have never taken place happens, it tears open a hole – portal, really – between worlds. Anything from this world can get into that one and vice versa. My guess is, another rip’s opened up in wherever that guy came from and dumped him here.” He explains.

“What could cause something like that?” Stiles blinks a couple of times, squinting at Derek’s fuzzy form. He feels like there are weights tied to the ends of each limb, like someone’s pulling his eye lids down.

“Um…Uh, I – I think…death.” He says eloquently. He thinks maybe Derek frowns at him.

“What?”

“Death. I mean – Uh, a massacre. The cold blooded murder of a group of people. So…for example, if someone supernatural were to kill a whole coven of witches in cold blood, that would cause a bleed.” He feels the blood drain from his face, a wave of nausea hitting him so hard he stumbles forward. The ringing in his ears gets worse, along with his headache.

“Stiles?”

“I –” He doesn’t remember why his head hurts.  “How – when did you get here?” He blinks, vision going black around the edges.

“I drove? You called me, remember?” Derek frowns.

“I think…I think I need to go to the hospital.” He grits out, legs feeling like jelly. Derek puts a hand on the back of his neck, warm and strangely reassuring. Some of the pain goes away.

“I’ll drive you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He was right about needing to go to the hospital.

“Severe concussion.” Nurse Murphy tells him, hanging up a bag of fluid while he glares at the IV in his arm. “You’re probably gonna have a headache for the next few days, feel a bit nauseas. Someone should watch you for the next day or two, but other than that, you should be fine.” She gives him a stern look that reminds him too much of Melissa. “Don’t strain yourself. I’m sick of seeing you in here, kid.”

“Not makin’ any promises, Murphy.” He grimaces. She ruffles his hair with a huff before leaving.

“You come here often?” Derek asks him. Stiles takes a moment to process what he says.

He hates concussions. They always slow him down, mess with his magic.

“Was that a pick up line?” He blinks at him. Derek gives him a look.

“You – you know what, never mind. Do you have someone that can –”

“Stiles!” Allison shoves the curtain aside, eyes wide and hair in a messy bun. She’s in sweats and a t-shirt, so stiles knows she just rolled out of bed and took a cab over. Murphy comes hurrying after her, looking angry.

“Miss, you can’t –”

“I’m his emergency contact.” Ally grits out, glaring. Murphy narrows her eyes.

“Allison Crystal Argent?” Derek jerks like he’s been shocked. Now, Stiles is way out of it right now, but he couldn’t have missed that.

“It’s fine.” Stiles assures her. The nurse glances at all of the them before nodding and leaving.

“Argent?” Derek asks, looking tense. Allison nods.

“Yes?” She shuffles over and puts a hand on Stiles’ arm. “Stiles, is he…?”

“Right.” He yawns. “F’rgot all ‘bout introducin’ you guys.” He slurs. “Derek, this is my buddy Ally. Ally, this is Derek Hale, werewolf.” Allison’s eyes widen, and Stiles is very confused. He knows he probably wouldn’t be if his head wasn’t a pile of mush right now, but sadly, that is not the case.

“Oh god, I – Derek, I’m so sorry, I had no idea she –” Ally stammers, looking like she’s about to cry.  “I can’t imagine what – I’m so sorry –”

“Allison.” Derek says softly. He still looks tense, but it’s- better, Stiles thinks.

“I’m not her.” Ally says firmly. “I never will be.” Stiles lets his eyes slip closed, too tried to keep track of the current conversation. He almost misses Derek’s next words.

“I don’t think Stiles would be with you if you were.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, this sin't too predictable, plot wise. Honestly, It might be following the plot of the second book more? Because that's the one I'm half way through rereading now, and i can't remember much of the others.
> 
> I'm not gonna say i'm gonna post the next chapter soon, because that pretty much guarantees that i wont be doing that.


	5. I Want You to Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right. so,” Kira starts, “Victim’s Monica Summers, age 23. Student at NYU. The dog walker over there found her wallet and purse inside the fountain, and her body on the other side of it. It’s, um…” She grimaces. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
> 
> “How not pretty are we talking?” Stiles asks.
> 
> “It looks like she was, uh. Crushed. To death.” Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as usual, this chapter is unbetaed. The space bar on my keyboard is being weird, and i try to catch most of the mistakes, but if you see any words with no spaces in between, please let me know.

He didn’t work on much for a couple of days after the ‘Troll Incident’, though he wanted to.

“ _Stiles_.” Ally says firmly, making him pause on his way to the kitchen.

“Ally.”

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy. You had a severe concussion not even five days ago.”

“That was taking it easy.” He points out. She throws her hands up in the air.

“That wasn’t ‘taking it easy’! You just spent an hour and a half jogging around Central Park and you call _that_ ‘taking it easy’?!”She snaps.

Okay, so she might have a point.

“I’m a witch, remember? Increased healing.”

“Only by ten percent, Stiles. You’re no werewolf.”  Her mouth snaps shut after that, and Stiles can tell they’re both thinking about the same thing; Scott.

“That’s still something.”

“Right.” She opens the fridge. “Want some water?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Are you really feeling better?” She questions when they sit down at the table.

“Yes. One hundred percent better.” He assures her. Ally smirks.

“Good. Because you’ve got five missed office calls, two from Laura, one from Derek, one From a Detective Martin, and another from an unknown number.” Stiles chokes, sputtering and turning to glare at her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Nurse Murphy told me make sure you take it easy.” She shrugs. “I made sure.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“You love me.” He slums.

“Yeah, I really do.” He gets up and kisses her forehead before going to his room, stripping off his shirt and getting ready to shower. He pauses in front of the mirror, looking down at the wolf tattoo on his hip.

He’s gotten in right after Scott – his wolf, not the person –showed up. It was about one week into his new life in New York, and he’d already been planning in getting something to remember Scott by. He lightly trails his fingers over it, eyeing the pale white lines that run from the V of his hips to just under his armpit. The tattoo only covers half of the scars left there by the Alpha, but he’d stopped hating them a while ago.

He lets his mind wander as he showers, thinking about his current cases and the Hales.

The murders are strange. And now that it’s werewolves that Laura and Derek actually knew that are being killed, it’s gotten even stranger. Weirder still, how the bleeds open up the day before they find another mangled werewolf. It’s almost as if –

His phone rings from its spot on his bed, and he quickly turns off the water, wrapping a towel around himself and hurrying to it.

“Stilinski.” He greets.

“Stiles.” Someone says. Someone familiar. Someone who in no way should be calling him because he’s _gone_ , he’s –

“Isaac?”

 

“Hey, Stiles.” He still sounds the same, even after five years.

“Isaac.’ He repeats, still a bit shocked.

“Yeah, it’s…it’s me.”

“You – I can’t – _Isaac_.” He shakes his head. “What...How’s Europe this time of year?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m in Beacon Hills.”

_What?_

“What.”

“I, uh. I came back. To…see you and Allison, I guess. But you guys aren’t here. Spoke to your dad, though, so I guess I know why now.”

“You…” Maybe the concussion is still messing with his brain, because he swears words aren’t normally this hard to get out. “You want to come back?”

“I want a pack, Stiles. No one here will take me, and I miss you.” Oh.

“I’m not –”

“You’re as close to an Alpha as a human witch can be.”

Stiles closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. He hasn’t had anything close to a pack in five years. He thought, before, that he would never need one, but apparently being around wolves for three years rubbed off on him, because the idea of being in anything resembling a pack again makes him inexplicably happy. That, and the fact that Isaac called him his Alpha.

“I’m a shit Alpha.”

“Shut up. We would have died without you.”

“Scott _did_ die!” He snaps. “You’re really gonna trust a guy who got his best friend killed with your life?!”

“You have to know that Scott’s death wasn’t your fault.” Isaac whispers, barely loud enough for him to hear. He sags against the wall, running a hand down his wet face.

“I…” He sighs. “I have to talk to a few people, first.”

“Thanks.” He pauses. “Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I heard about what you’ve done other there. Scott would be proud.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“…long as he doesn’t cause any trouble, it should be fine.” Derek hears when he wakes up. He follows Laura’s voice to the kitchen, and sees her holding her phone between her shoulder and ear as she makes coffee. “I’ll have to meet him…Yeah…Thanks for telling me first.” He squints, focusing on the voice on the other side of the line.

“ _…anks, Laura._ ” He hears Stiles say.

“No problem. Bye.” She hangs up, looking up at him. “Hey.”

“Was that Stiles? What did he want?”

“Stiles?” She frowns.

“Stilinski.” He corrects. She raises an eyebrow.

“His name is Stiles Stilinski?”

“I think it’s a nick name, maybe – not important. What does he want?” Laura rolls her eyes at him.

“Relax. A friend from his old pack might be moving here, he asked me it that was okay.”

“Old pack?” Derek questions. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Yes?” She pauses. “You know, you’ve been weirdly obsessed with Stiles for the past week. Anything you’d care to tell me about, little brother?” He glares at her.

“Don’t, Laura. It’s not what you think.”

“I doubt that.”

“ _Laura_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Lyds.” Stiles greets, sighing. Lydia glares at him.

“You’re late.” She glances behind him. “And you brought a guest? What the hell are you thinking?”

“She’s, uh.” He winces. “She’s good at this. Her family…she just knows a lot, alright? She can help, I promise. Plus, she won’t lose her lunch at the sight of a mutilated corpse!” He grins. Lydia huffs, rolling her eyes. Allison pauses beside them.

“You must be Detective Martin.” She says. “I’m Allison.”

Stiles doesn’t actually know what the emotion that ran across Lydia’s face _is_ , but he gets the feeling he accidentally did something good.

“Please,” she smiles – which she never does to, by the way, “Call me Lydia.”

“What?! Why does she get to –”

“Because I’m not paying her to help me solve cases.” She snaps. Behind her, Kira beckons them over. Stiles hopes this corpse isn’t as fucked up as the last one.

“Right. so,” Kira starts, “Victim’s Monica Summers, age 23. Student at NYU. The dog walker over there found her wallet and purse inside the fountain, and her body on the other side of it. It’s, um…” She grimaces. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

“How not pretty are we talking?” Stiles asks.

“It looks like she was, uh. Crushed. To death.” Oh.

“Well.” Ally says after a moment. “Let’s get to it then.” They go around the fountain, and Stiles wonders what could crush a person to death. It would have to be heavy, and big, depending on how much of her is crushed. The only thing he can think of that’s big and heavy enough would be a –

“Oh, jesus christ.” He groans, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Wow.” Ally says beside. Him. Of course she’s unaffected. She’s spent the past ten years of her life in Beacon Hills.

“Do you know what –”

“A troll.” He grits out, turning away.

“You mean –” Ally starts.

“Yeah.” He snarls. “Damn it!”

“What’s going on?” Lydia asks. He opens his eyes when Allison puts a hand on his shoulder.

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I should have made sure the troll was gone. If I had, then – fuck, Ally, someone else is _dead_ –”

“You were _concussed_ , Stiles, I doubt you would have done much good.” she turns to Lydia. “He’s just being a martyr again. Nothing to worry about. The troll’s most likely gone now.”

“Right.” Lyds narrows her eyes. “okay, so, what exactly does this mean? Harpies, trolls, and werewolves? That doesn’t really seem like a pattern.”

“The harpies and trolls came from a tear in the dimension.” Stiles explains. “Caused by a, uh, disturbance in the force, if you will.”

“ _Stiles_.” Ally sighs. He rolls his eyes.

“What? That’s the best way to explain it. something very _very_ bad and wrong happened, like murder bad, and it messed up the order of things so much that it ripped a hole in the universe. I don’t know if it’s being done intentionally, though.” He squints. “the tears open up every time we find a new dead werewolf. Those things don’t normally happen when werewolves are killed, or beacon hills would be literally made of interdimensional rips, which means…means that…oh. _Oh_.” His eyes widen. “Shit.”

“What? What is it?” Lydia frowns.

“I have to call Derek. Excuse me.” he scrambles for his phone. “Lydia’ I’m gonna have to come back later.”

“Stiles, what –” Allison starts.

“Ally, you’re gonna have to catch a ride with Lydia. I really have to go.” He hurries to his car. “Shit. _Fuck_.” He pulls up Derek’s number as he starts up the jeep.

“Stiles?”

“Derek. Hey. Long time no see, buddy.”

“Why are you calling me?” Derek growls. Right. okay.

“Right. The tears are opening up every time we find a dead werewolf. And Rips usually happen when something very badwrong happens. Like, say, a werewolf being killed by a member of their own pack.” He hears something clatter from Derek’s end. “Hello?”

“They were killed by a member of their own pack, or the Alpha?”

“I’m sensing Alpha. That mean anything to you?”

“I’ve heard of – it’s only a legend.”

“Doesn’t seem like just a legend right now, dude. What is it?”

“Mom told me stories of…of an alpha who wanted more power, so he ate his second. But it wasn’t enough for him. So he ate all his betas.”

“Shit.” Stiles groans. “You said you knew the werewolves that were killed. Who’s pack were they in?”

It’s silent for a moment, and then –

“Deucalion’s.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She doesn’t know where she is. Why she’s here. But she knows, before she can even see it properly, that the body before her isn’t alive.

She tips her head back, opens her mouth, and _screams_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' Tattoos:  
> \- An inverted Triskele in the center of his back  
> \- Stylized fox stretching from shoulder to shoulder  
> \- Alchemist's symbol for Earth on the back of his neck, Air on his right shoulder, Water on his left, and Fire just under the triskele  
> \- Backwards 5 behind his ear  
> \- Goddess symbol on his left wrist  
> \- Key on his right  
> \- stylized wolf (For Scott the wolf and Scott the werewolf) going from his left hip too just above the bottom of his rib cage  
> \- runes and sigils on his arms and the rest of his back

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://littleredtheboy.tumblr.com/). Come cry over Stiles with me.
> 
> want me to write anything? [Send me a prompt](http://stupidgenius.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
